


i will build a cathedral with our bodies

by smallredboy



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Coming Out, First Kiss, Getting Together, Nonbinary Hannibal Lecter, Other, Post-Fall (Hannibal), Sappy, Trans Will Graham, Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter in Cuba, Will Graham in a Dress, gender nonconformity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:49:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26536843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallredboy/pseuds/smallredboy
Summary: Everything gets better when Will finally confides on Hannibal about his desire to wear feminine clothing.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 7
Kudos: 90





	i will build a cathedral with our bodies

**Author's Note:**

> another commission, i'm very proud of this fic, it's really sweet.
> 
> enjoy!

Will is still unsure about how to broach the subject, even after all that has happened between them.

They're staying at a cabin in Cuba, watching the sun and the sea and the waves, killing people discreetly so as to not warn the FBI of their whereabouts. And somehow the thing he is the most worried about is how Hannibal will react to the fact he likes to present femininely from time to time. It's almost a joke— how could he be nervous about his cannibal almost-boyfriend's thoughts on gender presentation? 

But as decadent as Hannibal is, he knows he could still easily find it weird. Scoff, stare. It would be far easier if he were a cis man, perhaps— what's wrong with a man wearing a dress? But when that man is trans, then there's _everything_ wrong with a man wearing a dress. Even if he's undergone multiple surgeries, even if he's been on testosterone for nearly a decade, even if he's Will Graham. If you're a feminine trans man, that means you're a faker, bound to detransition and regret all of it, no matter how long it has been since you started transitioning.

It's nauseating. That's why, when he started transitioning, he had to play pretend as hard as possible. Other trans people shared their tips and secrets; he had to give the therapists a walking stereotype to be allowed in, to get hormones and surgery. Never played with dolls, never liked anything feminine, hated the color pink, and was attracted to women exclusively, because until certain figures in trans history, it wasn't really a thing to be gay and trans. Or, well, at least in a way that was accepted by the medical community. 

He had to fake his way until things got a bit more lax, so he could actually tell therapists things. Still, with his fear of being ostracized after psychoanalysis, he kept to himself, reserved always. And look where that's gotten him; now he's in Cuba with his cannibal psychiatrist, after having murdered a man together. All's well that ends well, or something of the sort.

He should just tell Hannibal that he likes wearing dresses, that he'd like a skirt, a ruffled blouse, to put on earrings and be gaudy in all the ways he can possibly be. He's spent a lifetime repressing every facet of himself— from his liking of everything feminine to his violent tendencies— and he's let some of that go, let it flourish into the open. But the smaller, less significant ones still pull at him, demanding him to remain ashamed of himself.

It's ridiculous. But he still doesn't know how he's supposed to tell Hannibal. Or how he'll react. He's a profiler, he knows people, he knows how to read people; but as he stares and thinks about what Hannibal would say, he comes up empty. It may be the anxiety clouding his vision, his empathy. He's not all that sure.

"Is there something on your mind, Will?" Hannibal asks over dinner, after swallowing a piece of 'steak', made out of their last victim. It's a routine he's learned to love, as he tries not to get even closer to Hannibal than he already is. He wants to simply ask the question, _are we dating, are we in a relationship_ , but he feels the need to cross this one bridge first. 

"Well," he says. He's not one to swallow himself up in anxiety, so he tries his best to pull himself out of the waters of shame. "There is, in fact." He's just worried about what will happen next. They're conjoined, unable to survive separation, after all that has happened; but he doesn't think he could deal with it if Hannibal was disgusted at him for the rest of their days, simply because he would like a dress or two. At that point he may as well strike him in the head and take him to the FBI and hope that somehow being on Jack's good graces will save him from time in prison.

Hannibal raises a brow and smiles at him warmly. "So? What is it, Will? You know you are safe with me. There is no judgment to be given out."

He resists the urge to be comforted by his words. He's tried to learn not to be comforted by Hannibal's words, but it's difficult with how soothing and calm he sounds at all times. He always sounds like he's trying to lull him into a calm, dark sleep.

"Sure," he agrees. He swallows. "I'm... I know you know I'm trans, but there's another part of my gender that I haven't told you about, mostly because I am afraid of your reaction."

"There is nothing you need to hide from me, Will," he says. "Believe me, I have been utmost supportive of all trans people since I came to being bisexual in the nineties. You will receive nothing but love from me, whatever your gender expression or identity is."

Will tries— and fails— to not blush at that. _Love_. It's such a powerful word.

"Well," he says. "While I mostly present in a more masculine manner, I'm also a fan of being androgynous or feminine. Back in Wolf Trap I had a few dresses hidden; I'm sure you went through my stuff, but I don't think you saw it. You would've said something by now."

"Oh," Hannibal says, quietly. "I did not see them, in fact. I'm more than okay with this; I would love to get you to a dressmaker or two here so they fit you perfectly. If they say anything rude, well, we know what happens after the fact."

Will is a little overwhelmed by the immediate support he receives from Hannibal. He swallows and looks down at the table, at his half-eaten meal. He resists the urge to let out the tears that prick at his eyes. He didn't know he valued Hannibal's support so much — especially now, after so many things have happened between them — but it seems like some things will always stay the same. He feels just as foolish as he did when he realized what Hannibal is.

"Thank you," he says. "I'm more than up for going to get my measurements and all of that. Thank you, Hannibal."

He smiles at him. "It is no problem. Finish your dinner."

He sticks his fork through a piece of 'steak'. "Of course."

* * *

The dressmaker is an older woman, a little over sixty if he had to guess. She smiles at them, looking at them like there must be a little girl behind them, the true person she's going to measure up today. But that's not the case.

"Hello," he says. "I wanted to get my husband fitted for a dress here."

The woman takes a second to get her bearings, to come to terms with the situation, but she nods. "Of course," she says. "Come forward, it's no issue. What's your name, dear?"

"Alexander," he replies.

"You American?"

"Yes," he says. "I still don't know much Spanish, so I apologize for that. My husband does know some, though."

"Oh, it's okay," she says as she goes to grab the measuring tape. "I'm comfortable with English. Most workers here are, really; you kind of need it with the tourists and whatnot." She smiles and starts measuring Will. "I've made dresses for men only a few times before— there's no much difference, really, except in the sizes, so it's not like I mind. Gay marriage isn't recognized here but men still come to dressmakers for symbolic weddings."

"I see," Will replies. "We didn't get to get married in the States before we moved here, so we're not married legally, and we don't plan to have a wedding any time soon. It's what we feel that counts, though."

"Yes, I do agree." She smiles at him. She's brimming with kindness; of all the things he expected from a dressmaker, this wasn't one of them. He thought the day would end with Hannibal and him out to hunt her, after her rudeness had filtered through her nice words. "Now, just turn around, dear."

He does as told, and she finishes taking his measurements, pulling away and writing them down in her notebook.

"So, what type of dress were you thinking of?"

Hannibal looks at him, as if judging whatever choice he's going to take now. Like his taste in dresses is something worth divorcing him for.

He swallows. "Uh, I was thinking of a floor length dress, just something long. I'd prefer for it to be sleeveless, too."

"Hmm, very good choice," she says. "What about color?"

Will turns to look at Hannibal through his periphery, breaking off into a shit-eating grin. "Blood red."

Hannibal is resisting the urge to laugh at that, he can see that in his eyes.

The woman, unaware of the implications and the joke, lights up. "Of course. That will look beautiful, will complement your eyes. I will get working on it."

"How much do we owe you?" Hannibal asks. 

"You should pay me after I am done with the dress," she replies. "It should be around eighty dollars, with this simple design. Are you sure you would not like anything more in it?"

Will considers it. "Maybe some embroidery around the bottom, blue roses, perhaps?"

She nods. "I can do that. That would bump up the price to, say, one-hundred dollars. The Cuban peso is about the same in terms of value, so don't worry about money conversion."

"Noted," Hannibal says. "Thank you so much for your time, Mrs. Pérez."

"No problem. Have a safe ride back home."

Will nods and walks out of the shop with Hannibal by his side. He can't help but smile— it went far better than he thought it would. He's light, now, happy with what happened at the shop. He's going to have a dress! A dress that fits him perfectly, that doesn't hang around his shoulders and his chest, it expecting something that isn't there. He's elated.

"Will?" Hannibal asks as Will gets onto the driver's seat. He sits next to him. "I do not mean to steal your spotlight or anything of the sort, but I have been doing some reading after you came to me to tell me about your gender expression."

Will hums and starts the engine. "What is it? There is no spotlight to steal, Hannibal."

It's weird, to have referred to Hannibal as his husband while not having ever kissed him. It's just a charade that works the best to describe their relationship, or at least that was they had said at the start. People will understand their devotion to each other like that, and when one of them gets dirty looks for it, well, even easier to get meat that night, isn't it?

He wants to kiss him. He should. But he doesn't quite dare to.

"I had been vaguely aware of, well, genderqueerness back in the day," he starts. "But my research led me to what seems to be called widely _nonbinary_." He fiddles with his hands, a gesture of nerves Will has rarely ever seen in him. "I believe I may fit under that umbrella. I have never given much thought to my identity until now, as it always seemed as a given and I have little desire to alter my body— but I resonate with the conversations about not having an internal sense of gender, of feeling off with both male and female." He looks at the road intently. "I doubt you would mind, of course, but I simply wanted to inform you of this as I try to figure out this part of my identity."

Thankfully, just as Hannibal finishes speaking, he's stopped by a traffic light. He turns around and smiles at him, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt as he pulls him into a kiss. Hannibal gasps into his mouth, before responding in kind, hands on Will's shoulders.

They're interrupted by someone behind them honking, so Will pulls away and starts driving once again.

"What was that for?" Hannibal asks airily.

"I was thinking about how I wanted to kiss you," he replies. "And you told me you are, in a way, just like me... more than you already were before this revelation, I mean— and I just felt like I had to kiss you." He smiles, turns to look at him briefly. "I love you, Hannibal."

Hannibal lights up. "I love you too, Will. So very much."

"Are you going to wear dresses now, too?" he says.

"I have before, actually. Gay bars were very open to that stuff back in Florence. But I may now, knowing that it is simply a new way to express myself." He pauses. "I know I'll adore how you look with your dress on, too."

"Let's hope so."

* * *

When Will finally gets his dress, he puts it on once they're back home. Hannibal's eyes are wide, full of adoration, as he peppers kisses across Will's face, like he could not get enough of him.

"You look stunning, my love," he says. "Absolutely gorgeous."

"Thank you, dear," Will breathes out, letting him kiss him, kiss him all over— he feels warm all over, like he's being worshipped like a god. "You do not need to be this mushy with me."

"I do," he replies, looking at him in the eyes. HIs eyes are brimming with love. "I do, WIll, I do. You amaze me. Every part of you — it is breathtaking. Let me worship you, dear. Let me take care of you."

Will's face is flushed red. His dress is very pretty, he can give him that; the red is truly blood red, the embroidered flowers at the bottom a pretty shade of blue that is along the color of his eyes, matching them nicely.

"I love you," Hannibal breathes out. "I love you. You are gorgeous. Let me worship you."

"I will," he says, cupping his cheek with his hand. "You can worship me."

There is something about being worshipped by the man who brought him to his downfall. Like being a god after falling down into Hell, rising through the ranks of that wretched place, the Devil himself paying him a prayer.

He feels holy, he feels powerful, as Hannibal dotes on him like he's never doted on anyone else.

He is beautiful, and Hannibal will always make sure he knows that, like an universal truth— _Will Graham is gorgeous_ , written on every wall and every floor and every ceiling, for everyone to know and share this gospel.

"I love you," Hannibal tells him, eyes wide and wanting, and Will has never felt quite as loved as right now.

**Author's Note:**

> check out my [writing tumblr](https://smallredb0y.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> please leave a comment if you liked this fic!


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